


vena amoris

by eunwoozi



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Feelings Realization, M/M, and they were roommates! (oh my god they were roommates)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-15
Updated: 2019-08-15
Packaged: 2020-09-01 10:02:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20256301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eunwoozi/pseuds/eunwoozi
Summary: Jihoon takes Introduction to Human Anatomy and tries to figure out why his heart won't stop pounding out of his chest.





	vena amoris

**Author's Note:**

> what's up i'm back in the junhoon tag for the FOURTH (4TH!!!) time and i have brought this horrific monstrosity with me. i was cleaning out my stuff and found my physiology notes from last summer and i was inspired to write this. it started off as a short fluff drabble but then transformed to this 9.6k feelings monster about grief and love and happiness, which, like. yeah. anyways i hope you enjoy! 
> 
> content warning for mentions and descriptions of the human body and physiological processes.

**Unit I. Introduction**

_ Homeostasis: The state of a steady equilibrium in the body maintained by living beings through physiological processes. _

Click. Click. Click.

Jeonghan has a habit of clicking his pens while thinking. Jihoon hates it. He could be across the lecture hall and still hear Jeonghan clicking his pens during a midterm. He’s grown to tune it out, except now, in the enclosement of the dorm room, it feels like it’s coming from inside his head.

Click.

Homeostasis.

An easy enough concept, Jihoon thinks, looking over his notes.

If you were cold, your body would shiver, and the heat generated from your muscles would bring you up back to optimal temperatures. If your blood sugar was low, your pancreas would secrete glucagon into your bloodstream, prompting glucose release by the liver. Homeostasis. The basis of this class—Introduction to Human Anatomy—his professor said on the first day. Everything your body does is to bring it back to homeostasis.

Click. Click.

Easy concept in theory, difficult in practice. His body seems to be resistant to homeostasis, always in a state of disequilibrium. A runny nose, a lingering cough, an out-of-rhythm heart.

Click.

There is a sickness. It started sometime in the beginning of their second year. Jihoon and Soonyoung both realized that as great friends as they were, it doesn’t quite translate to being great roommates. Jihoon was adverse to gross smells (as most people are), which Soonyoung seemed impervious to. He was on the verge of plotting murder after having to take out their trash for the tenth time in two weeks, and Jeonghan calmly suggested that they switched roommates. Junhui was clean and neat, and Jeonghan claimed to be immune to mess. Jihoon thinks it has a little less to do with Jeonghan’s supposed superhuman traits (striking good looks is one of them, Jeonghan says) and a little more to do with his fondness for the source of the mess. 

After some paperwork and pushing a cart filled with all his belongings to the fifth floor, Jihoon finally settled in as Junhui’s new roommate, which is approximately when the sickness started. Jihoon thinks he might be having withdrawal from the fumes in his old room, but even sitting in his old dorm room now, the mess more contained than he had ever seen it in a year but undeniably still there, there’s a quiet discontent in his chest that he can’t shake.

Jihoon hates the unknown. He needs the facts. He needs to be able to prepare for what’s coming. He needs to know the symptoms, and how they relate, and what it all means. Otherwise, it takes from him in a way that’s nearly impossible to patch up.

“Hey doc, can you diagnose me?”

Jeonghan looks up from his notes. “Are you sick?”

“I think so,” he says, dropping his notebook on his chest and turning to Jeonghan.

Jeonghan stops clicking his pen and scrunches his nose, giving him a look. “Gross.”

“I thought you were pre-med,” Jihoon scoffs and turns over on his side. 

“Emphasis on pre,” he swivels back to his laptop. 

Jihoon lets out a long sigh, letting his arms dangle off the bed and staring at the ugly carpeted floor. 

Jeonghan glances over at him, his kicked puppy look getting the best of him, and his expression softens.

“Have you tried the internet? Or an actual doctor?” 

Jihoon nods, “The internet said I’m having heart failure.”

“You’re twenty.”

Jihoon twirls the pen in his hands. “People die unexpectedly every day, y’know?”

Jeonghan turned to him, eyes big and eyebrows knitted together, “I know. Jihoon—”

“So what do you think is wrong with me?” Jihoon cuts him off. He hadn’t meant for that to incite any pity. It was just a passing comment. He had seen it coming from a mile away—the wide eyed look, the ever so slight tilt of the head, the tone of the voice. It had been an everyday occurrence for so long and Jihoon had reached his lifetime limits of pitying looks. 

Jeonghan is quiet, glancing at Jihoon, “What are your symptoms?” 

Jihoon can make out a hairball clump on the floor, and decides that he had had enough of looking at their dirty floor. He turns onto his back, staring up at the off-white ceilings. “I don’t know. It just feels…unsettled here.” He taps at his chest. 

Click. Click.

“Your heart?”

Jihoon shrugs, “I don’t know. I think so.”

Click.

“Is it…”Jeonghan begins, but then trails off quietly, surveying Jihoon’s expression. 

Jihoon stares back at Jeonghan for a moment, but he can’t maintain eye contact for long before the backs of his eyes begin to burn and returns to spinning his pen. 

“I don’t think so. This is new,” Jihoon says quietly.

Jeonghan nods and swivels back in his chair, clicking around on his computer. Jihoon twirls his pen in his hand, trying to see how many continuous turns he can get before the pen flips out of his hand.

He’s up to fourteen when Jeonghan swivels back to face him.

“You should cut out caffeine.” Jihoon snorts and the pen flies out of his hand and regrettably onto the dirty floor.

“You’re joking.”

Jeonghan frowns, his eyebrows knitting together. He always has that face when he was concerned. It usually only appears when Soonyoung was about to do something dumb.

“Caffeine increases your blood pressure and heart rate. That’s probably that feeling you get in your chest.”

Jihoon lets out a dramatic sigh, “How am I supposed to stay awake in lecture without caffeine?”

“You could try...sleeping earlier.” Jeonghan suggests, with just a touch of sarcasm.

“But I can’t sleep at night.” Jihoon whines. 

“Probably because of all the coffee you drink.” Jeonghan has a knack for stating the obvious in the most irritating ways.

Jihoon just groans and turns to lie on his stomach, shoving his face into Jeonghan’s pillow.

“I want a new doctor.” He says, voice muffled by the pillow.

+++

**Unit II. Upper and Lower Limbs**

_The palmaris longus is a muscle originating in the humerus and inserting in the hand. It presents as a small tendon in the wrist. It is absent in 14% of the world population, and doesn’t affect grip strength. As such, the muscle is often taken out for tendon grafts, as it presents no functional deformities._

Jihoon cut out caffeine, as per the doctor’s orders. And it was going terribly, as expected of the doctor in question.

He still couldn’t sleep at night. He saw this coming—it was always less of a symptom of caffeine and more of a reluctance to face his dreams. His subconscious had never been kind to him, but at least when he passes out from exhaustion, it has the decency to let him have a dreamless sleep. But worse now, without caffeine, he could barely stay awake when it was necessary—lectures, presentations, lunch, middle of conversations, what have you. 

And worse, other symptoms began manifesting itself. Like, for example, his currently sweaty palms.

He is in lecture. It is the dead of February. It is a temperature controlled room. He can’t fathom why his palms are sweating buckets in the middle of an air-conditioned room in the dead of February. They’re not taking a test, or doing anything that makes him more prone to sweating than usual. He just has to take notes on the intricacies of Rodin’s _The Gates of Hell_, but that proves to be increasingly difficult as his sweaty palms dampens and warps the page.

Even worse, he has a witness to his body trying to dehydrate him in the worst and slowest way possible. Junhui is right next to him, probably judging him, watching him soak through page after page. They have the same lecture, but they can usually never find other in the big lecture hall when Jihoon comes to class fifteen minutes late after stopping to get coffee. Now that the doctor’s orders are in effect, Junhui has to drag him out of bed and to class on time. This just means that Junhui has front row seats to his caffeine withdrawal symptoms manifesting themselves as a pair of sweaty palms.

“Hey.” Junhui leans over and whispers into Jihoon’s ears. Jihoon instinctively recoils back at the warm breath, feeling his blood vessels contract and expand along his neck and up his ears. 

“What?” Jihoon turns to him, looking more at Junhui’s neck than at him, wishing he had more control over the flush warming his face. 

“You okay?” Junhui tilts his head, batting his large brown eyes. 

Is it the sweaty palms? Did he accidentally fall asleep? Did they somehow develop one way telepathy and Junhui can now hear every single one of his thoughts? He hopes it’s the sweaty palms. 

“Yea, why?”

Junhui points at his legs, or rather leg, singular. It was bouncing up and down at an aberrant rate, beyond Jihoon’s control. He never used to shake his legs, or at least, he never noticed that he did. Maybe another symptom of this sickness that relinquishing caffeine doesn’t seem to fix. 

He stops his legs and stretches them out as much as he could in the limited leg room between the rows. 

“Sorry,” he mumbles back to Junhui.

Junhui lets out a low chuckle and pats his knee reassuringly. 

“It’s okay. I was just worried.” He gives him a soft smile and turned back to his notes. 

There’s still a lingering warmth on his knee in the shape of Junhui’s hands and Jihoon wonders if his body has nothing better to do than circulate blood to unnecessary parts of his body or de-hydrate him through the palms of his hands. 

His sickness is getting definitely getting worse. 

+++

“You’re a shit doctor,” Jihoon says as Jeonghan plops down in the seat next to him. 

“Good afternoon to you too,” Jeonghan replies, unfazed. 

“I think I have caffeine withdrawal.” 

Jeonghan raises an eyebrow. “I think you might be dramatic.” 

Jihoon groans into his hands, “It’s getting worse.” 

“How so?” Jeonghan pulls out his notebook and pen and sets it down on the table. 

“My hands get like, disgustingly sweaty.” He holds out his relatively dry hands in front of him. “And my legs will bounce uncontrollably.” He gestures at his currently unmoving legs. 

Jeonghan looks puzzledly at Jihoon and the lack of symptoms, spinning his pen in his hands. “I mean, you seem fine right now.” 

“Ask Jun,” he says, a hint of desperation. “My legs were about to vibrate him out of his seat this morning.” 

Jeonghan hums, “When did this start?” 

“The sweaty palms and leg shaking?” Jeonghan nods. “This morning, because you told me to cut out caffeine.” Jihoon says pointedly. 

Jeonghan clicks his pen. 

“When did this,” He gestures vaguely at Jihoon, “start?” 

Click. Click.

“Sometime in the beginning of the year.”

Click. 

“That’s around the time we switched roommates,” He notes. Jihoon nods.

Click. Click.

“And you were sitting next to Junhui?” Jeonghan asks.

Jihoon doesn’t know what that has to do with this untreated illness, but he nods again.

The corner of Jeonghan’s mouth twitches up and he sets his pen down, “Interesting.” 

Jihoon narrows his eyes at him. “What is?” 

Jeonghan turns to him and looks at him with an unreadable expression. He seemed amused, or confused, or filled with pity. Jihoon can’t quite figure it out. He opens his mouth to say something, but the lights dim as the lecture starts and he just gives Jihoon one final look of concern and turns back to the lecture. 

“It’s nothing.” He shakes his head and whispers to him. Jihoon doesn’t think it’s nothing, and Jeonghan certainly doesn’t act like it’s nothing, but he knows trying to get information out of Jeonghan is an art lost to the gods, so he doesn’t push. 

+++

Jihoon is running. He is running and he doesn’t know why. He can’t make out the surroundings, just that there are trees that pop up along his path and the sky is dark and red and it’s pouring rain. And then he remembers why he’s running—there’s a figure that follows him. It doesn’t run, just follows him at the exact same speed, and it’s just far enough that it can’t reach him, but too close for comfort. Too close that it makes Jihoon keep running. He feels burning in his lungs and his throat and he can’t run anymore but he has to. He feels his legs beginning to give out from under him and he can’t help but slow down. The presence doesn’t slow down its pace—just keeps getting closer and closer until it reaches him and touches him and its hands are cold and wet and the trees around him begin to disintegrate. 

Pale blue walls build themselves up around him until he’s enclosed in a familiar room with a bed and monitors and a half-dozen machines hooked up to every possible part of the person on the bed. Jihoon walks towards the bed, reaching out to touch her hand but he just can’t quite get there. The more he walks towards the bed the more he stays in place, his body relentlessly fighting to move even an inch and the floor underneath him refusing to budge. He shouts, but the body is still. He yells, but the body is still. He cries, but the body is still. The walls begin to disappear, followed by the monitors, and the machines, and then the bed. Jihoon cries out but nothing comes out of his mouth and so he screams but it doesn’t stop her from disappearing too and eventually it’s just Jihoon, alone. 

“Jihoon.” There’s someone shaking his shoulders and for a moment he thinks he’s back in the room but he opens his eyes and he’s in his bed and the sun is hazy and it streams in through the window and gives everything a faint orange glow. 

There’s a dip in the mattress and Jihoon turns to see Junhui holding his shoulder, concern plastered on his face. 

“You okay?” 

Jihoon opens his mouth, his voice coming out hoarse and cracked. “Yea.” 

“You’re crying.” Junhui says softly. Jihoon raises an eyebrow but before he can say anything, Junhui thumbs at his cheeks, wiping them away. He doesn’t know what prompts it, but he feels burning prickling at the back of his eyes and before he can stop it, a stream of tears burst from his eyes and there’s an aching in his chest that makes him curl up. It hurts—like someone reached into his chest and decided to squeeze his organs until air couldn’t reach his lungs and blood couldn’t circulate to his cells. It made it hard to breath, his cries coming out in choked gasps of stolen air. 

Junhui cradles his cheek in his hands, wiping away whatever streams down his face. Jihoon reaches for Junhui’s hand resting on his face and grips onto it tightly, pulling it down to his chest.

“Please don’t leave,” Jihoon barely manages to say between sobs. It comes out so quietly that he isn’t even sure that he said it—just feels hands squeezing his own. 

He feels the bed shift as Junhui lays down, wrapping an arm around him and pulling him closer. Jihoon burrows his head into his chest and he feels the waterworks soaking through Junhui’s shirt but he can’t stop them and Junhui doesn’t even hesitate, just pulls him closer. He rests his chin on top of Jihoon’s head, carding his hand through his hair.

“I’m here.” Junhui says, ringing out so clearly it soothes the aching in his chest.  
He doesn’t know when he falls back asleep, just that he breathes in and out with the rise and fall of Junhui’s chest until he does. 

+++

**Unit III. Abdominal Organs**

_The appendix has long been considered a vestigial organ, but evidence suggests that it plays a large hand in harboring gut bacteria, as well as providing immune defenses to the digestive tract. _

He has a voracious appetite. Soonyoung calls him a bottomless pit, voice tinging with amaze- and horror. His appetite has certainly seen better days—endless nights of dragging Soonyoung to go grab giant sandwiches from the shack down the street hasn’t been good for it, but it had never faltered. At least, not until now. 

He was having lunch with Joshua and Junhui. He was eating just fine, chomping on grilled meat and chugging down his rice with a bottle of coke. Eating just fine. Junhui had passed him his bowl of rice, like a reflex. It was just natural—Jihoon always ordered a second bowl and Junhui never finished his. It just seemed logical. 

He was in the middle of his second bowl of rice. Joshua had started talking about how great the service was at the restaurant he and Minghao had gone to for their anniversary dinner: Complimentary sweet-but-not-too-sweet desserts and endless cloud-like buttered bread fresh out of the oven, he described it.

Junhui had enthusiastically agreed, talking about a date he had gone on not too long ago at the same place. There was a similar excitement for the descended-from-heaven bread. 

It was around then, when he was halfway through his bowl, that the churning in his stomach ceased immediately. 

There could be a number of reasons why he might have lost his appetite: he ate at an abnormally fast rate, “inhaling food”, Jeonghan called it, which probably caused indigestion. It was just also possible that all this talk of bread was just making him crave bread instead of rice. Although before, Jihoon had no trouble inhaling food or eating rice and bread concurrently. 

Humans don’t have sensory nerves in their digestive tract in the way that they have sensory nerves in the tips of their fingers or palm of their hands. Which is a good thing—you really wouldn’t want to feel your food being digested in your stomach or traveling through your intestines. 

Jihoon is beginning to think that his neurons have mutated and grown and extended themselves into the reaches of his abdomen because he can feel his stomach muscles contracting and churning the coke and rice in his stomach to mush. Eating and drinking becomes more difficult if you’re acutely aware of the processes every organ in your body is going through to break down the admittedly unhealthy combination of food that you’ve subjected it to. A person has about twenty feet of small intestines, swirled up and packed up in their abdominal cavity, and he can feel the food moving through every single inch of it. 

He figures this is another symptom of the sickness (or The Sickness™, as Jeonghan stylized in his messages). 

“Jihoon.” 

“Hmm?” Jihoon looks up to see Junhui looking at him, again with those wide concerned eyes. 

“You’re not eating,” He points the chopsticks in his hand at Jihoon’s half-eaten bowl. 

He isn’t. And he probably spent the last few minutes boring a hole into the table with his stare, likely to the confusion of his bread-loving lunch party. 

“I’m not hungry.” He puts down his utensils and pushes his bowl towards them. 

Junhui and Joshua exchange looks.

“You’re never not hungry.” Joshua states matter-of-factly. 

“You used to wake Soonyoung up at 2AM to get food with you,” Junhui adds. 

Jihoon sighs, giving them a woeful look. 

“I’m not hungry.” 

Junhui furrows his brows and leans forward, placing his hand on Jihoon’s forehead. “Are you sick?” 

And there it goes again, his circulation speeding up and rushing to his forehead without any approval on his end. He knows his autonomic nervous system usually acts in his best interest: digesting his food, regulating his breathing, readying his body for fight or flight as needed; but he was nowhere near danger—no risk of fight or flight. No reason for his blood vessels to dilate and flood his face.

“No—I just—maybe?” Jihoon splutters out. They both just give him another concerned look. 

“So you are sick?” Joshua asks softly. 

“Your face is warm,” Junhui points out. Jihoon touches his knuckles to his cheeks, ice cold to a fiery warmth. 

He could tell them about The Sickness™, but there’s a gnawing in his chest that advises him against it. He’s not sure why that is. Jeonghan’s face pops up in his head, and his voice echoes inside of his brain. He had brushed Jihoon off after lecture, spouting nonsense about the “interesting” physiology of the human body instead. Jeonghan is infuriatingly good at avoiding questions he doesn’t want to answer. 

“I think I might’ve caught something over the weekend,” Jihoon finally says. 

They give him sympathetic nods and Junhui swings his arm over his shoulder, rubbing his hands up and down his arms. Jihoon finds himself leaning against Junhui, and the gnawing in his chest doesn’t let up. 

+++

“You know what’s wrong with me.” Jihoon states, but it comes off as more of a question. 

Jeonghan looks up from his notes.

“I do?” 

They were in Jihoon’s room, studying for their second midterm. Studying for organs and their functions proved to be not as difficult as studying for muscles and their functions. Jihoon could get behind differences between a spleen and a pancreas, but knowing the differences between the flexor pollicis longus and the flexor digitorum profundus made the cogs in his brain grind to a screeching halt, especially when the only thing that has occupied his brain recently is the inevitability of his body’s decay. 

Jeonghan looks at him and he stares back, unwavering. Jeonghan just blinks slowly at him for several moments before dropping his gaze back to his notes.

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” he says with a bit of finality. 

He stares back and narrows his eyes. 

“Liar.” 

Jeonghan gives an exasperated sigh. “What do you think is wrong with you?” 

“A brain tumor? Cancer? A Very rare disease that presents with harmless symptoms until it’s too late?” 

Jeonghan gives him a long look of concern. “You really have to stop watching medical dramas.” 

Jihoon opens his mouth to argue back—he watches exactly one medical drama, thank you very much, it is not his fault that it just so happens to have fifteen seasons and counting, and besides, the show is more about the relationships between people than—

Their door swings open, much to their surprise. 

“Oh good, you’re here.” Junhui says brightly as he walks through their door and the scent of chicken similarly follows. 

“I thought you had class,” Jihoon looks at his watch. Junhui had class until evening on Tuesdays, which usually forced Jihoon to rope different people into eating dinner with him. His victim this week was Jeonghan. 

Junhui walks over to his desk and setting down several plastic containers.

“I have class in fifteen minutes, but I bought _samgyetang_ for you.” He says, patting at the container of soup and flashing a grin. 

“For me?” Jihoon echoes. 

Junhui nods, “For the cold.” 

“The cold?” Jeonghan pipes up. 

“Jihoon caught the flu—he even lost his appetite earlier.” 

“Oh, did he now?” He turns to Jihoon with a raised brow. Jihoon shoots him a sharp glare before turning back to Junhui. 

“You didn’t have to do that.”

Junhui shrugs and smiles at him, eyes crinkling up and mouth widening in a boxy grin, “I wanted to. ” 

He heads out the door and waves goodbye to the both of them, letting the door swing shut behind him. 

Jihoon thinks the mention of the sickness must bring it back into full focus for his body because his palms were beginning to sweat and his stomach was beginning to churn and there’s already a tugging at his chest that no amount of push and pull would let go.

He feels a little like his brain is going into overdrive—like all of his neurons were firing concurrently and shorting his circuits. He’s not sure why the cogs in his brain were working themselves into a frenzy, but Jeonghan’s voice in particular echoes faintly in his head. He can’t make out any of the words and it just comes out as a bunch of garbled nonsense until it rings clearly through his eardrums.

“Jihoon.” 

Jihoon jolts and turns his attention back to Jeonghan. He didn’t realize he was still staring at the door a considerable amount of time after it had already closed.

“Yea, sorry. Uhh…where were we?” He can’t remember what they were talking about beforehand, but judging from the papers in front of him, he guesses it has something to do with the midterm they had tomorrow. Or was it Thursday? He flips between his notes and his textbooks, as if they would magically reveal the answer in between the list of muscle functions. 

Jeonghan doesn’t move, just continues to look at him. 

“You really don’t know?” Jeonghan asks, but it comes off as more of a statement.

“That’s why I asked you where we were?” He blinks at him. 

“That’s not—never mind,” Jeonghan just shakes his head and looks back down at his notes, “We were studying forearm muscles.” 

It feels a little like déjà vu, but he doesn’t badger Jeonghan again. Mainly because of the looming midterm just over the horizon, he tells himself. He tries not to read too much into the implications of Jeonghan’s questions. 

The _samgyetang_ is still warm when they finally take their dinner break—it quiets the pounding in his chest and soothes the churning in his stomach. 

+++

**Unit III. Cardiovascular and Respiratory Systems**

_The typical heart beat sounds—“lub-dub”—actually comes from the heart valves closing, not from the blood pumping. The “lub” part results from the atrioventricular valves closing, and the “dub” part results from the semilunar valves closing._

Jihoon wakes up in a cold sweat, and finds himself unable to move. He tries opening his eyes, but they feel glued shut. Even when he thinks he can manage to open his eyes, it looks a lot like his regular room, but walls and desks move in and out of focus and fade to black at the slightest movement. He thinks he can see Junhui in the other bed, but he’s blurry and dreary and he yells and yells but no sound comes out of his mouth and Junhui too, eventually fades to black. He tries to reach out, but his hands are weighed down with cement blocks and it feels like moving them would tear his arms right out from their socket. It feels like swimming upstream—his body screams at the slightest movement, resisting him at every turn. There’s a familiar presence in the room, but it sends chills down to his core. He knows it’s not real, and tells himself it’s not real, but the presence is eerie and haunting and he’s not sure how much longer he can convince himself otherwise. He takes a deep breath, and falls into the current instead. 

The first time this happened, he was in middle school. It was a school night. He distinctly remembered climbing into bed and falling asleep. He remembered dreaming. It was a weird dream, with a lot of squirrels. And then, he remembered being awake. Except that he couldn’t physically wake up. He was conscious and alert but he just couldn’t move his damn arms or legs and no amount of screaming or yelling made it past his vocal chords. His brain was awake but his body refused to listen, and he was stuck in an endless chasm that echoed back on itself. It terrified him—every part of his body urged him to go back to sleep but there was always a shadowy figure in the corner of the room—no form or shape, nothing objectively terrifying. It was just a presence that made itself known, and it stayed away as long as Jihoon stayed awake. It didn’t use to have a face but recently, that’s changed. It’s a familiar face—knowing and familial—but unnerving. Going to sleep terrified him—closing his eyes meant losing track of his surroundings, not knowing where the presence will be. But staying awake—facing the presence—terrified him even more. It was a torturous cycle that wound itself around in knots. 

What he didn’t remember, and what he continues to fail at, is how he manages to get out of it. He remembers waking up. He remembers being paralyzed. He remembers being terrified. He remembers being terrified for what feels like hours, going in circles between waking up and going back to sleep again and again. And then—

He’s awake. 

His heart is pounding wildly in his chest and he can hear blood pumping in his ears. The pounding reverberates in his ribcage and echoes in his skull. His eyes snap open and moonlight floods his vision. The room is no longer fading in and out of focus. The walls are fixed to the ceiling. The presence is gone. 

“Jihoon.” 

Junhui’s voice jolts him out of his half asleep trance. He turns to see Junhui pulling up his chair next to his bed, again looking at him with those large concerned eyes. 

“Sorry, did I wake you?” Jihoon murmurs. 

Junhui shakes his head. “I was writing my essay,” He nods at the dim laptop screen on his desk.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” It sounds like a lie when he says it, with his heart slamming against the ribcage and the blood pounding in his ears—the _lub-dub lub-dub lub-dub_ rhythmically drowning out any other sounds around him—but it was true. He had a nightmare, and then a brief bout of sleep paralysis. It wasn’t abnormal, not statistically, and especially not for him. He’s been through this before, and he’ll likely go through it again. He was fine. He is fine. He will be fine. 

“It was just a dream,” Jihoon mumbles when Junhui looks skeptical. 

“Was it—” Junhui trails off, the slightest trace of a frown on his face. 

He hesitates, but nods, “I’ll be fine.” 

Junhui doesn’t look assuaged, just frowns even more. He reaches over to grab Jihoon’s hand, rubbing his thumb soothingly over his hands. For a moment, the pounding in his ribcage ceases. “You sure?” 

“I’ll be fine,” he just says again, as convincingly as he could, squeezing his hand back and letting go. 

Junhui scrunches up his face but relents. “Okay. Just let me know if….yeah.” Jihoon nods again and Junhui slides his chair back to his desk. “Good night, Jihoon.” 

Jihoon tries to go back to sleep but when he closes his eyes, it feels like the presence is there. Never moves, just watches. It’s not scary, just unsettling. It makes him restless and his heart beat wildly out of his chest.

A normal resting heart rate is around sixty to eighty beats per minute, but Jihoon’s heart has been beating at a hundred and twenty beats per minute for the past five minutes and he’s starting to feel slightly out of breath. Sixty to eighty beats per minute is the goldilocks—fast enough to deliver oxygen to the rest of the body, but not too fast that it overexerts the heart muscle. Sometimes, the heart will beat faster when the brain thinks it’s in danger. It ramps up the adrenaline, and the heart works harder to pump blood to deliver extra oxygen to the body.

The presence isn’t real, but it prompts his fight or flight instincts and makes him want to flee. He doesn’t know how to tell his body that no matter how much he runs, the presence follows. And so, his heart continues to pound rapidly, like it has a chance of escaping.

Noise has never been an obstacle when it came to falling asleep, and the pounding in his ears nearly drowns out everything anyways. Even so, his ears are hyperaware of the Junhui’s laptop keys clicking and he tries instead to redirect his attention back to counting sheep instead. He just wants the exhaustion to settle in, to the point where he can’t fight his eyelids and sleep crashes into him like storm waves breaking on the shore.

He manages to get to twenty-two sheep, but then Junhui taps on a key several times and Jihoon’s attention is redirected to the long slender fingers typing away at the desk. Junhui is turned away from him, the dim glow of the laptop just ever so slightly illuminating his profile. His hair is mussed up—he has a habit of running his hands through his hair when frustrated. It usually ended up in a tall pouf by the end of a game of monopoly or a late night study session. 

Jihoon doesn’t know how long he spends looking at him, but when he turns his attention back to sheep counting, he finds himself already at eighty-three sheep, which can’t possibly be right, so he restarts his counter. 

But then he gets distracted at thirty-four sheep, because their windows are open and it’s facing the main walkway and people returning to their dorms in the middle of the night are never quiet or courteous. So he restarts his counter. 

But again, Junhui’s typing refocuses his attention and he loses track somewhere between forty-three and seventy-six. So he restarts his counter. 

This time, it’s a loud banging right outside his hallway when he reaches fifty-four. So he restarts his counter. 

And then his neighbors come home at sixty-one, letting the door slam so hard it shakes the walls in their room. So he restarts his counter.

And again and again and it’s always something—a loud laugh down the hall, Junhui closing his laptop shut, his neighbors deciding to blast music at 3AM, Junhui pulling back the covers to slide into bed, what sounds like a horror movie on the other side of his wall and—

“Jun.” 

Junhui looks up from his phone, the faint light of the screen highlighting his cheeks. 

“Sorry, is the light keeping you up?” Junhui worries, locking his screen black. 

Jihoon shakes his head. The hammering in his chest was keeping him up, the presence in the back of his eyelids was keeping him up. The neighbors deciding to have a party and a movie marathon was keeping him up. The people outside shrieking with laughter was keeping him up.

All he can think about is how much he wants the pounding in his head to stop—how much he wants to be able to hear the crickets chirping outside without hearing the throbbing vein in his forehead. And Jihoon just couldn’t help but think about the way Junhui’s hand, briefly held in his own, managed to stop the relentless beating in his heart. 

So he climbs out of bed and crosses the barely five feet to Junhui. 

“Can I?” 

If Junhui looks surprised, he doesn’t let on, just nods, pulling back the covers and shifting back to the wall. Jihoon slips easily into the warmth, his head hitting the pillow with a soft thump. Junhui drapes the comforter back over him, their shoulders barely bumping into each other. 

“I can’t sleep,” he finally says. 

“The nightmare?” 

Jihoon just nods, and turns his head. Junhui is on his side, facing him, his hands loosely grasped around the covers. He doesn’t say anything, just keeps looking at Jihoon. Even in the faint moonlight, he can see the worry lines that bunch up on Junhui’s forehead. 

“I see her,” Jihoon says, so quietly that he can barely hear himself. 

“In your dreams?” 

Jihoon nods again. “She can’t hear me,” he whispers. It feels like the smallest ripple on perfectly still water.

“What happens?” Junhui’s voice matches his own, quiet and still. 

Jihoon closes his eyes and sure enough, she’s there in the corner. She doesn’t move, or say anything. Jihoon might be conned into believing that someone had taped an image onto the insides of his eyelids. But he opens his eyes again and she’s still there. Doesn’t disappear until he turns to face Junhui, grounding him back to reality. 

“Nothing.” The air is so still Jihoon thinks it might shatter. “I wake up,” he exhales, with a bit of finality. 

Junhui doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t even give him the wide-eyed look that Jihoon had become so familiar with. Doesn’t try to fill the silence like everyone else, trying to fit square blocks into circular slots. He just looks at him with downturned eyes and worry lines crinkling up his face. Jihoon wants to reach out and smooth them all out. They’re so close, Jihoon can count the individual moles dotting his face. There’s at least five, six, maybe seven? He wants to trace them all. 

Junhui’s hand finds his under the cover and interlocks their fingers together. Another reaches up to sweep away the hair falling into his face and tuck it behind his ears. He strokes his thumb over his cheek, again and again until the pounding in his heart quiets and his breath evens out and sleep washes over him gently like the ripples in a pond. 

Jihoon dreams again. 

It’s the same, every time. It’s been the same, every time. He’s running and it’s raining and he keeps running and it keeps raining until his lungs burn up and his legs don’t work and he can’t run anymore and it stops raining. And then he’s in the same place. With the same walls and the same floors and the same monitors and machines and it all feels like he’s being set up for a punchline that never comes. He yells, then screams, then cries. His throat is raw and his lungs burn up and his legs don’t work and he can’t move and the body on the bed doesn’t move. And then it fades away, like it always does. It fades away until there’s nothing left but him. 

But then, suddenly, there’s a hand in his own. It feels so warm and it feels so real and it pulls him up. It leads him to the bed and for the first time, she’s there. The walls don’t crumble when he steps forward and his voice doesn’t get trapped in his throat. And so he holds on tightly onto the hand and reaches out— 

And he wakes up.

There’s no machines or monitors or idle blue walls or tiled flooring. Just the stark white walls and the unpolished furniture. There’s no pouring rain. Just a stream of sunlight through the windows. There’s a hand, enclosed in his own. It’s warm and real and it holds him steady. 

Jihoon doesn’t know how long he lies there for, just that in between the doors slamming in the hallway and the marching band practicing on the field, he comes to a very daunting realization that makes his palms sweat through his sleeves and his insides twist into knots and his heart slam into his ribcage in a way that warm hands can’t stop. 

+++

**Unit IV. Brain, Cranial Nerves, and Major Peripheral Nerves**

_The vagus nerve is the tenth cranial nerve (CN X), and interfaces with the parasympathetic control of the heart, lungs, and digestive tract. Because of this, excessive emotional stress can activate the vagus nerve and cause physical reactions—such as unlocalized chest pain and abdominal pain. _

“You knew.” Jihoon says to Jeonghan when he swings the door open.

“Knew what?” Jeonghan tilts his head, feigning a puzzled look. He lets Jihoon into his room. 

Jihoon lets his backpack drop to the floor with a loud thud.

“You knew and you didn’t tell me. You let me think I was dying of some terminal illness or something—” Jihoon raises his voice and flails his arm wildly as he hops onto Jeonghan’s bed. 

“Whoa, okay,” Jeonghan pulls up his chair next to Jihoon. “What is this about?” 

“You _know_,” Jihoon just yells again. “You,” he jabs a finger at Jeonghan, “you and your cryptid looks and cryptid words. Why didn’t you just tell me—how did you _know_—I didn’t even _know_,” he waves his hand angrily, “and here you were,” Jihoon gestures strongly at Jeonghan. “Knowing.” He finishes lamely. 

Jeonghan just stares at Jihoon, bewildered. Jihoon groans, burying his face into his hands and falling back onto Jeonghan’s bed. 

“What do I know?” Jeonghan asks carefully. 

Jihoon peeks through his finger. “The symptoms, or whatever. And Jun—” Jihoon bites his lip. He didn’t mean for that last part to slip out. He can already feel Jeonghan straighten up in his seat. 

“Ah,” Jeonghan says knowingly. He just grins widely at Jihoon, “This is about the sickness.” 

“It’s not a sickness. You know that.” Jihoon grumbles out. He doesn’t move his hands from his face, refusing to look at him.

“I mean, technically. But you are sick. Lo—”

“Don’t. Finish that sentence.” Jihoon threatens.

“—vesick.” 

Jihoon uncovers his face and gives Jeonghan the strongest glare he could muster. It doesn’t last for long, with the way Jeonghan was grinning stupidly at him. 

He just heaves a long sigh and buries his face into the pillow. 

“How did you even know?” He asks, voice muffled. 

“Know doesn’t sound like a real word anymore,” Jeonghan muses. Jihoon makes a frustrated noise in the back of his throat that makes Jeonghan laugh. “I mean it’s very obvious, for one. Anyone with eyes could tell.”

He turns his head to the side, narrowing his eyes. “What do you mean by that?” 

Jeonghan gives a noncommittal shrug. “Just, the way you are with him.” 

“That’s not an explanation,” Jihoon retorts. 

“Jihoon,” he says, with a hint of exasperation. “He brought you soup and you looked at him like he gave you the moon.” 

Jihoon doesn’t know what to say to that, so he just pulls a pillow over his head and hopes Jeonghan doesn’t see the circulation blossoming on his cheeks. 

+++

The dreams still come. But sometimes they change. Sometimes the walls are a different color. Sometimes the monitors aren’t there. Sometimes his voice works. Sometimes he can move. Sometimes he can touch her. But most of the time? 

Most of the time, it’s all the same. It jolts him awake and he can’t fall back asleep. It paralyzes him out of his mind. But most of the time, Junhui is there, true to his word. He’s there and he threads his hands in his own or combs his fingers through his hair or thumbs circles on his cheeks until he sleeps again.

But tonight, there’s a repeated noise inside his head that keeps him up, practically yelling at him, so loud Jihoon was almost sure it was actually there, if it wasn’t for Junhui sleeping soundly right next to him.

“You have to tell him.” Jeonghan’s voice echoes in his head, like an incessant buzzing. Like someone took the essence of Jeonghan’s being and shoved it into his ear and it was just shouting at him like its life depended on it. 

But he couldn’t. He physically can’t. He doesn’t know what would happen if he did. He doesn’t know how Junhui would react or what he would say or what he would do. And Jihoon is so, so afraid of the unknown. It takes from you—leaves a hole in your life that haunts you even in your waking moments. It terrifies him, the possibility of losing someone else. 

It’s so much easier to have facts—like, to know that the brachialis muscle originates on the humerus and inserts on the ulna. Because then you can predict what happens—when the brachialis contracts, it pulls the two bones together, resulting in flexion.

But he doesn’t have all the facts. 

He doesn’t know what would happen—if he reached out and smoothed the worry lines on Junhui’s forehead. Or if he brushed his hands along the slope of his jaw, the curve of his nose, the rise of his lips. Or if he traced the moles dotting his face like the world’s weirdest connect-the-dots. He doesn’t know where the muscle originates or inserts and he doesn’t know what would happen if it contracts. If it would result in flexion or extension or if would just snap his arms in half. 

So he doesn’t move. 

The process of imagining your hands moving fires up the same neurons as actually moving your hands. The physiological process is nearly identical, except for the very last, very critical action—moving the actual hand, letting the muscle contract. So instead he traces everything with his eyes, like it were his hands. Nearly identical, except he doesn’t have to wait for the muscles to contract, to snap his arms in half. 

+++

**V. Cumulative Exam**

_ The human body is an extremely complex network of cells, tissues, and organs, regulated by hormones, enzymes, and molecules that we have just barely just began to discover. While a lot of medical advancements have been made, it is arrogant to say that we completely understand how the body functions. Progress is only made by walking into the unknown. _

“You have to tell him.” Jeonghan says for the third time that week when Jihoon shows up at his room.

“Tell who what?” Soonyoung calls out from his bed. 

“Jihoon won’t tell Jun that he likes him.” Jeonghan says, matter-of-factly. Jihoon lets out a mangled cry.

“What the fuck—” Jihoon slaps his arm. “You can’t just go around telling people—” His voice gets higher pitched, “Jeonghan, I swear to god—” 

Jeonghan just grins, unfazed by Jihoon’s berating. “Oh relax, Soonyoung already knows.” 

“How do you know?” He narrows his eyes at Soonyoung, plopping down on his bed. 

“I have eyes,” Soonyoung retorts. 

Jihoon groans. “You told him,” He turns to Jeonghan accusingly. 

He raises his hands up defensively, feigning innocence, “He’s my roommate. We have a special bond.” He gives Jihoon a mischievous smile, “I thought you would know all about special roommate bonds.” 

He holds up his hand and Soonyoung promptly hi-fives him, sporting an identical smile on his face. 

Jihoon is beginning to think that he should have just suffered through Soonyoung’s inability to pick up after himself. Maybe he wouldn’t have gotten himself into this whole mess. Jeonghan alone was insufferable enough, but the two of them together posed to be an extreme sport. 

“So why won’t you tell him?” Soonyoung pipes up. 

“You can’t just—it’s not that easy.” Jihoon mumbles and lies back down on the bed.

“Sure it is. Just go up to him and be like, ‘Jun, I have a big fat crush on you.’” Soonyoung mimics his voice. “And then he’ll say, ‘I like you too, Jihoon. Let’s move in together and get a cat.’” He says this with a deeper register. “And you’ll live happily ever after!” He finishes off cheerily. 

Jihoon just stares at him blankly and heaves a sigh when Soonyoung doesn’t even break his obnoxious cheery façade. 

“I’m not going to do that.” 

“It sounds great to me,” Jeonghan adds. Soonyoung grins and throws a finger heart in his direction, which he happily receives. Jihoon just looks at them with mild disgust. Switching roommates was definitely a mistake. 

“Gross.” 

“This could be you and Jun.” Jeonghan sing-songs. 

“It’s not.” Jihoon says, deadpan. 

“It could be.” Soonyoung says.

“It won’t be.” Jihoon snaps.

“It would be if you tell him.” Soonyoung counters.

“I’m not going to tell him.” Jihoon retorts.

“Why not?” Jeonghan whines. 

“Because!” Jihoon yells, startling them. He hadn’t meant to snap, and the looks on their faces makes him regret his outburst. He pinches the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “Sorry—I didn’t mean to—I just—I just can’t tell him.” 

“Why not?” Jeonghan asks, more subdued this time. 

Jihoon lies down on the bed, staring up at the abnormally high ceilings

“Because I don’t—” Jihoon pauses, “—I don’t have all the facts.” They raise their eyebrows at him. “Like…how do I—how do I know that he’ll like me back?” He says quietly. “How do I know that it won’t just all go to shit?” He gestures wildly at the ceiling, “That—that I won’t just single-handedly ruin our friendship?” He sets his arms down on his stomach, interlocking and twisting his fingers together. “How do I know that I—that I won’t lose him?” He says softly, barely above a whisper. 

He waits for them to say something. Something along the lines of they do know—in fact, Junhui told them himself not too long ago. He does like him back! And that all there’s left to do is to run into his arms and get a cat and live happily ever after. Something to that effect. 

“You don’t.” Soonyoung says starkly. 

Jihoon turns to him, wide-eyed. Soonyoung backtracks a little when Jeonghan shoots him a look. “Look, I just mean, you won’t know. You won’t know until you tell him because you can’t _always_ know what’s going to happen. It’s not on you to ‘have all the facts’.” Soonyoung lays down next to him. “Sometimes you won't have all the facts, and you’ll have to make a decision, and it won’t turn out well,” he says gently and turns towards him. “But it’s not going to be your fault.” 

Jihoon curls up and buries his face into Soonyoung’s side, feeling the blood pounding in his veins, and the crushing weight on his chest. 

“I’m scared,” He mumbles. He was so, so scared. 

There’s a dip in the mattress and Jihoon feels Jeonghan climbing over on the other side, wrapping an arm around him. 

“We know,” Jeonghan says softly. 

+++

Jihoon has never been this nervous in his entire life. It feels like his legs are shaking enough to cause shockwaves to the surrounding area. He thinks it may be a bit because of the americano in his cup, but it doesn’t stop him from taking another sip anyways. He was sitting outside on the veranda of the campus café, but the cold chill doesn’t stop his palms from dripping in sweat. He doesn’t know the physiology behind that—maybe his body was just desperate to cool him down to a cryogenically frozen state so he doesn’t have to face everything. He pulls open his phone, just switching from app to app, not really focusing on anything, desperate to give his thumbs something to do to pass the time. 

“Hey,” Junhui’s voice surprises him and he looks up from his phone. He pulls back the chair next to Jihoon, the heavy metal scraping harshly against the concrete floor. The sound of it makes him grimace.

He slides the lemonade over to Junhui when he settles down next to him. “For you.” 

Junhui holds a hand over his heart, touched. “What for?” 

Jihoon straightens up a little. “That’s actually uh…what I wanted to talk to you about.” 

He tilts his head at Jihoon, giving him a curious look. “Yeah? What’s up?” He takes a long sip of the drink. 

Jihoon clears his throat, turning to him “I just…wanted to say thanks.” 

Junhui’s expression doesn’t change, just continues to look at him wide-eyed. 

“For uhm…helping me. With my nightmares.” Jihoon shifts in his seat. 

Junhui’s eyes soften, and he opens his mouth, probably to brush it off. 

“Before you say anything,” Jihoon cuts in, “I wanted to say something. Well—a lot of things, actually. I have a whole spiel?—I guess—that I’ve been rehearsing. And I really don’t want to forget anything. So can I—can I say my thing first?” Jihoon stammers out, wringing his hands. 

Junhui nods, sitting a little straighter in his seat. "Of course," he says gently. 

“Okay. So…uh…I just wanted to say thanks. Thank you. For helping me with my nightmares. I know it must keep you up at night—” Junhui shakes his head, but doesn’t say anything. “And I’m sorry if I ever like, kicked you in my sleep. And also, I’m sorry for stealing the covers at night.” Junhui laughs, which relaxes Jihoon a bit. “The dreams, they—they terrified me, whenever I woke up. Like I couldn’t fall back asleep. But having you there—just next to me—it made me feel like—like I could sleep through earthquakes, y’know?” Jihoon laughs nervously and Junhui gives him a warm smile in return, and it tugs on his chest a little. “But I just wanted you to know that uh…you don’t have to do any of that. Anymore.” He takes a sharp inhale, trying to steady his voice. “It’s been hard for me, sleeping. Ever since—” He gestures vaguely and Junhui nods, “—yeah. I know it’s been a while but still—I don’t know,” His voice is shaky. “I’m working on it—is what I’m trying to say. I’m working on it. But that’s the thing. That’s _my_ problem and I should fix it. I shouldn’t—I shouldn’t be disrupting your life.” Junhui’s biting down on his lip, worry lines framing his face. Jihoon takes another deep breath, “So don’t worry too much, about me. And thanks, again. For helping me, and worrying about me. You always look so worried for me and I just—it’s giving you permanent worry lines. And I can’t have that on my conscience. Ruining your handsome face or—or whatever,” He rambles, stopping himself to catch his breath. “You’ve already done so much for me. You’re so, so unbelievably kind, and patient. And you’re always weirdly energetic—it just—it makes me so happy, to be around you.” Junhui’s expression changes, and Jihoon can’t quite decipher it, and it terrifies him, so he stares at the tip of his straw instead. “You’re so generous, without even a second thought. And you always know what to say, or when to tell a lame joke. And just—talking with you, and being with you, makes my day. Your optimism radiates endlessly and you—it gives me _hope_ for better days.” He exhales. He’s terrified of looking at Junhui, afraid of what his face will tell him before he can even get all his words out, so he starts again. “I guess what I’ve been—what I’m trying to say is I—thank you and—and I like you. I really like you,” He stumbles. “And you don’t have to—do anything, or say anything, right now. I just—I had to tell you.” 

Jihoon takes another deep breath and closes his eyes, taking a long sip of his coffee and choosing to direct his attention at a rust stain on the table. Junhui is silent for what feels like forever—so long that Jihoon begins to think that he stepped away and just left a perfectly still clone in his place. There’s just the sound of faint chattering from inside the coffee shop, everyone choosing to spend the cool day inside instead. A breeze falls through and makes him shiver, his legs shaking aberrantly. 

Jihoon can see Junhui’s hands, long and slender, tapping lightly on his thighs. And then they move, reaching out for Jihoon. He’s too afraid to look up, but it stops at his jaw, thumbing along the slope. 

“Hey,” Junhui says faintly, still holding onto his face. Jihoon looks up, and Junhui is looking at him, his expression soft. Jihoon thinks he’s physically stopped breathing, which he knows isn’t possible, but it feels like someone’s sucked all the oxygen from his body. Junhui then starts to lean in, and Jihoon has really stopped breathing now. He gets closer and closer and takes more and more breath from Jihoon until they’re impossibly close, and the last molecule of oxygen is ripped from his body, and Junhui’s eyes are so warm and brown, with golden flecks of the sun. “I like you too,” He whispers and closes his eyes and swoops in, catching Jihoon’s lips in his own.

Junhui tastes like lemons and reminds him of summer and it grounds him, tethers him to the earth and steadies him. He can feel his hands caressing the sides of his face, their noses bumping into each other with every movement. And as long as it felt, watching Junhui lean closer and closer until his freckles envelope his vision, it feels improbably short, when Junhui pulls away. 

“I didn’t…uh,” Junhui licks his lips, still so close that Jihoon feels his warm breath against his lips. “I didn’t come prepared with a confession,” Junhui chuckles, still holding onto Jihoon’s face. “So I was trying to figure out what to say, before I—you know. I wanted to look at you, but you weren’t looking at me.” Jihoon smiles sheepishly. “And then you were looking at me, but then all I wanted to do was kiss you so—yeah.” He leans back a little, dropping his hands to his thighs. Jihoon feels his face reddening, and he thinks Junhui’s face is beginning to match his own. “You don’t have to worry about me...worrying about you, if that makes sense?” He knits his eyebrows together in confusion. “I just mean that—I care about you. And you shouldn’t have to go through this alone. And you won’t—because I’ll be here. To hold your hand or let you kick me in my sleep or steal my covers or whatever else you need. Because I like you, too.” He finishes, looking at Jihoon with a fond smile. 

It’s Jihoon’s turn to lean in, and Junhui meets him halfway, closing the gap with a smile.

It’s strange, Jihoon thinks, the way his heart still slams wildly in his ribcage. And the way his insides no longer feel twisted in knots but instead are now fluttering, climbing up his trachea, desperate to escape. Nothing adds up, and he knows so little. And yet, it’s strange, how it doesn’t seem so daunting. 

He just lets his heart beat, most ardently.

**Author's Note:**

> the last line is based on pride and prejudice, one of my all time favorite books. 
> 
> as always, thank you so much for reading  
kudos and comments are appreciated! 
> 
> come talk to me on [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/jungnoonoo)


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